Chapter 42
I t’s only been two days.
That’s what I keep telling myself.
Two days isn’t long. People take longer vacations. Sick days.
Breakups.
But this doesn’t feel like a normal breakup.
It feels like someone took a sledgehammer to something fragile inside me and walked away before checking the damage.
I’ve barely moved from the couch.
The throw blanket is still half-folded from when I tried to sit up and talk myself into going The Ledger this morning.
Didn’t happen.
Didn’t even get to the part where I put on real clothes.
The air feels heavy. The silence, heavier.
I’m not crying anymore. That stopped sometime around midnight.
Now I’m just... quiet.
Waiting for the ache to dull, even though I know it won’t.
Not yet.
The buzzer comes three times in a row. Not the impatient kind, not the angry kind—just the kind that says I know you’re in there, and I’m not leaving.
I debate ignoring it. But then I hear her voice.
“Sienna, if you don’t let me up, I swear I’ll call the fire department and tell them you’re stuck in the tub with your foot wedged in the drain. Again.”
A groan escapes before I can stop it.
I shuffle to the door, buzzing her in and leave the door open a crack before plopping back down on the couch.
The door creaks open a few seconds later, and Harper breezes in like she owns the place—which, emotionally speaking, she kind of does.
“God, it smells like heartbreak and microwave popcorn in here,” she says, toeing off her heels and kicking the door shut behind her. “And not the good kind of heartbreak either. The no one even died and you’re still this dramatic kind.”
I don’t even lift my head from the couch. “You’re welcome for the ambiance.”
She walks straight to the window and throws open the curtains, bathing the room in sunlight I didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t want. “Jesus, Sienna. This isn’t mourning. This is light depression with a splash of refusal to shampoo.”
“I showered last night,” I mumble.
“Not hard to tell. Fuzzy hair, sad eyes, cozy robe. You’re one sad playlist away from becoming a Pinterest cautionary tale.”
She walks over, leans down, and squints at me. “Have you eaten anything that wasn’t a granola bar or your feelings?”
“I had toast.”
Her brow rises. “Dry?”
I hesitate. “…Maybe.”
Harper sighs and disappears into my kitchen without another word. A cabinet slams. A fridge opens. Something clinks.
“I’m not in the mood for a pep talk,” I mumble, curling deeper into the couch like a feral house cat.
“Oh good,” She pops her head back around the corner. “Because I didn’t bring one. You love grilled cheese and I come bearing brie and reckless opinions. Maybe a sprinkling of rage.”
Despite myself, I almost smile.
She reappears with a pan in one hand and cheese in the other, tossing both onto the stovetop like she’s about to perform a culinary intervention. “So. Tell me what happened. And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because that look on your face says everything. ”
I exhale, staring down at my hands like they might offer some kind of answer. “He let me go.”
Harper pauses, one hand halfway to the pan. “What do you mean?”
“Lucian. He ended the sponsorship. Said I should report to Eve. Pick a contract.”
Her brow furrows slowly, like she’s trying to make the pieces fit, and they just… don’t.
“Wait,” she says, setting the cheese down gently this time. “You’re not serious.”
I give a hollow laugh. “Dead serious.”
“But…” Harper trails off, blinking hard. “What, he just cut you loose like none of it ever happened?”
I nod once, because saying it out loud again might break something I can’t put back together.
She walks over, rests a hip against the counter, and crosses her arms. “You guys weren’t just playing a game. He felt something.”
My chest tightens. “Apparently not enough.”
Harper tilts her head, studying me. “What did he say, exactly?”
“That it was a mistake.” My voice barely scrapes above a whisper. “That I need to separate business from the heart. And when it feels real… I have to know it’s not.”
For a long beat, Harper doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me like she’s trying to see through the cracks in my armor.
Then, softly, she asks, “Do you believe him?”
I swallow, hard. Then lift my eyes to hers.
“No.”
And that’s the problem.
The apartment falls into silence as Harper absorbs it all. The wheels of mischief are turning and finally, she lifts a brow, her voice quiet but steady.
“So… what are you going to do about it?”
* * *
T he doors glide open like always, but this time, I walk through them with purpose. Not desperation. Not confusion. Not heartbreak.
Purpose.
It’s been three days since Lucian Vale stripped me bare—not just of my clothes, but of the illusion I thought we’d built together. He kissed me like I was everything. Touched me like I was his. And then he shoved me out like I was nothing.
Fine. He wants it to be business?
Let’s do business.
I step off the elevator in a tailored dress that hugs every inch of me like armor. My heels echo sharp across the marble. I don’t flinch. I don’t falter.
I’m here to remind him what he threw away.
Eve looks up from her tablet, her brows lifting in surprise. “Well. Didn’t expect to see you this soon.”
I offer her a cool smile. “Just needed a couple days to regroup.”
She watches me for a beat longer than necessary.
Not prying, but aware. She was there, after all. She saw the aftermath. She helped me piece myself back together without ever asking for the broken details.
“You know, it’s okay if you need another week.” I see the sympathy in her eyes. Hovering over the words she’s not saying. “I mean, damn, take two.”
“Thanks, but I’m really okay. I’m ready to review some contracts.” I follow, my voice calm. Unshaken. “I want something… high-profile. Exclusive. Something that’ll make the room stop when I walk into it.”
Eve glances at me over her shoulder. “Making a statement?”
“Making a point,” I reply smoothly.
To him. To myself. To anyone who thought I couldn’t turn this heartbreak into power.
He wanted to act like I meant nothing?
Then I’ll show him what nothing looks like when it walks out of his club on the arm of someone richer, more powerful, and just out of his reach.
I’m going to find the perfect contract.
And when Lucian sees me with someone else—smiling, glowing, desirable—maybe then he’ll realize what he lost.
And maybe by then… it’ll be too late.
“Alright.” She turns and I follow. “Let’s get started.”